


Common Tongue

by XYDamianKane



Series: Kinktober 2019 [6]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Dresses, Earth-11, F/F, Gender Dysphoria Mention, Identity Porn, Kinktober 2019, upskirt sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 06:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20925782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XYDamianKane/pseuds/XYDamianKane
Summary: Some off-the-record proceedings from Wayne Manor, brought to you by the Daily Planet's own Clara Kent.





	Common Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce and Clark's Earth-11 counterparts do have canon civilian names (Helena and Laurel respectively), but I didn't like them! So here we are. Clara is my own derivation. I know I've seen Rachel used in multiple other works but couldn't identify them specifically.

Day 6: **Upskirt Sex** | Domesticity | Creampie | Bulges

* * *

“Ms. Wayne! Who are you wearing?”

Clara sounds _just_ like a paparazzo, and hates it.

Rachel looks suitably unimpressed, but it did successfully catch her attention. She approaches.

“Sorry about that, ma’am,” Clara says, grinning.

Rachel narrows her eyes.

“It’s Westwood, if you’re familiar.”

Clara isn’t.

“I didn’t take you for the ballgown type.” Clara knows she’s pushing her luck. Really, it’s Rachel’s fault for being so fun to mess with.

“I don’t like how tighter skirts restrict...movement,” Rachel says, her deep voice unintentionally sultry and her face entirely expressionless.

Damn.

“What do you want,” Rachel’s eyes drop to her press pass, “Ms. Kent?”

So that’s the game they’re playing.

Clara shrinks back in on herself a little, adjusts her glasses, and lets her face flush. 

“Ha, sorry. I actually think I’m lost--Ms. White wanted me stationed on the carpet with the others, I think. Could you point me there?”

“I’ll show you,” Rachel says.

They walk away from the crowd.

Soon, they are in the garden, and Rachel walks to the central rose bower. It’s far enough back that they’re shielded from the view of any stray partygoers.

They sit side by side on a marble bench there, moonlight filtering through the trellis overhead. Clara still keeps her ears pricked for any new developments, but can’t look away from Rachel. It’s not_ just _ that she’s beautiful--she’s pale enough to nearly glow in the dark.

“Off the record?” Rachel says, expectantly.

Clara startles with recognition and stutters, “Yes, ma’am, we’re off the record.”

“If you’re so interested in what I’m wearing, why not take a closer look? I’m told Vivienne uses the minimum amount of stitching to get the drape she wants.”

Rachel guides Clara off the bench to the ground. Clara adjusts herself so that she's kneeling. One leg emerge from a slit Clara hadn’t noticed before and she swallows.

Her hand creeps up Rachel’s strong thigh, pushing up the skirt as it goes, and she has to swallow a noise when she touches what feels like a garter--

“Are you carrying _ Batarangs_?”

“Why do you think I wear skirts cut this way? Mind the explosives on the other leg, if you would. Wouldn’t want to get caught,” Rachel murmurs, an edge of annoyance creeping into her tone.

Clara scoffs and shakes her head, but ducks under layers of piled fabric anyways. Rachel is so wet that Clara can smell it; she must have been worked up for a while now. 

Her heartbeat _ has _ been elevated for hours...

Clara kisses at the all-over lace of Rachel’s underwear before she pulls the fabric aside.  
Here in the dark safety of Rachel’s skirts, there’s just one task ahead of her, and Clara’s mind is blissfully focused. She mouths softly at Rachel’s clit, traces the length of it with the flat of her tongue. She could do this all day. 

Rachel must feel her hand twitch.

“Go ahead, Ms. Kent. Start with two.”

Clara withdraws, just enough to respond, “Yes, ma’am.”

She moves to suck at her clit, and slips two fingers inside her.

(Clara is, in this moment, really glad she didn’t get fake nails, even if Lois had already expensed them.)

It’s warm and wet inside Rachel. Clara ignores how big her hands feel like this in favor of thinking about how good they’re making Rachel feel.

She feels Rachel get wetter around her. The sounds they make together are obscene.  
Rachel doesn’t really make noises audible to _human_ ears, which is fine by Clara, who feels every hitch in breath, every change in heartbeat.

Clara draws back a little to reposition her hand. She dips two fingers inside, and rubs Rachel’s clit in easy circles. She chases the movement with the tip of her tongue, and Rachel actually sighs.

“Good girl,” she says, and her voice is low.

Clara moans and speeds her hand.

Rachel pushes her leg all the way through the slit and uses it to push Clara’s face deeper into her lap. It’s a little clumsy with all the fabric in the way, but Rachel quickly initiates a rhythm, grinding into her mouth, and Clara lets herself be used.

Rachel fucks herself down on Clara’s fingers and Clara can feel just how _ strong _she is before her muscles seize and she cums. Clara lets her ride out her orgasm as long as she needs to.

Every second is a new kind of degrading bliss, an increase to the overall thrill of being used.

When Rachel is done, Clara ducks out of the layers of her dress and sits back on her heels. The slick on her face is cool with the wind. She realizes suddenly that her lipstick is definitely a lost cause. 

“Want a hand?”

“No, I’m--I’m good,” Clara blushes. 

Rachel doesn’t press, and Clara is grateful for it. 

(They’ll have plenty of time later, once the attendees clear out and Clara’s dysphoria has been blunted by time or tequila.)

Rachel pulls a handkerchief out from somewhere and kneels down beside Clara to dab it at the shining wetness that dominates the lower half of her face.

“You did very well, Clara.”

Clara smiles, a little drunk on the praise. It should scare her, how much she’d do for Rachel.

It’s hard to be scared, though, when everything is so still and sweet and quiet.


End file.
